Monday, August 28

The Kind of Person Who Leaves The Bathroom Door Open While Blowdrying Her Hair On a Sunday Morning at 7 While 3 Other People Are Asleep In The Room

It's a good thing B told me of his plans after I'd accidentally smashed him in the face with a wayward racquetball or else this too would surely have gone down in the annals of Our History as attempted murder.

Truth be told, every racquetball I hit instantly becomes "wayward". Once in a long while, the ball goes where I envisioned, but at that point it's pretty much accidental. Like a broken clock.

Anyway, the annual West Virginia University Drunken Debauchery Reunion is a) an awfully redundant title and b) approaching rapidly. For the sake of my ever-fragile sanity, I have again opted out of attending this particular event. If I've learned anything over the last 5 years, it is that the drinking, debauchery, and hateful accusations of a ghonnorhiac Celine Dion impersonator are best left to those with stronger stomachs.

Ok, but here's the thing: The reunion is a particularly akimbo this year because B's bestest college buddies not only went and married each other, but then went and got knocked up (again). Their first baby was so cute that they just couldn't wait to make another one, and I guess I can't blame them for that. But with Mom and Pop out of the equation, this leaves B, his best friend, his best friend's sister, and their other best friend to share a hotel room. These guys have known each other for so long they're pretty much extended family. It's actually quite adorable, and a good time is always had, but for the fact that one of these four is a foul-mouthed anti-semetic disgusting slut whose most endearing quality is her plethora of infectious diseases. And this coming from me!

While other reunion attendees have made plans to stay with other friends/family, B tells me that he will be in a room with the aforementioned three. One of them, as I mentioned, is a waste of lifeblood and would best be suited for a lobotomy which I hereby publically volunteer to personally perform with my handy bic ballpoint.

B says that I don't trust him, but I retort that it's not about trust. It's about all those rounds of penicillin injections we'll both need when he comes home. I mean it's just downright unsanitary.